The Definition of Home
by Queerasil
Summary: 221B Baker Street burns to the ground. Sherlock and John are forced to re-define 'home'. (Established relationships Johnlock and Mystrade. Major character death. Bees, drunk, fluff, sad, angst, hurt, comfort, friendship.)
1. House of Ash

**Trigger Warning: Major character death. **

1

House of Ash

The fire starts as a spark. Small, cautious, contained - a barely flickering glow. The oxygen feeds it, making it grow, until it engulfs anything and everything in its path.

Sherlock barely wakes up in time. He hears the roar of the fire, and the sound of wood collapsing, and thinks it's all a nightmare. Wearily, he opens his eyes and finds the air has been replaced with noxious, thick black smoke. He gasps, inhaling a mouthful of the toxic smoke. Coughing, he nudges John to wake up.

"John, John," he shakes his partner. John doesn't wake up. "John, you've got to wake up."

The smoke is nearly too thick to see now. Sherlock picks John up by the waist, heaving the smaller man over his shoulder. He steps out of the bedroom door to find the hallway engulfed in flames.

He runs - just runs; not thinking of the memories he's leaving behind. Not thinking of their signature chairs by the fireplace, or the skull on the mantle, or the violin by the window, or the yellow smiley on wall littered with bullet holes. He forgets about the milk and the thumbs in the fridge, the Cluedo board stabbed to the wall, and his precious petri-dish experiment next to the biscuits in the cupboard. He runs, because that's the only thing he can do.

Sherlock hears the ceiling crack above them and knows what's about to come. His first instinct is to get John out of the way, and Sherlock moves just in time to dodge the cascade of fiery drywall that comes falling down on top of them. His second instinct is to make sure John's alright, and he makes sure his partner doesn't have any injuries before attending to himself. John is fine. Sherlock, however, is not. No matter; he can attend to that later.

Downstairs, Sherlock calls for Mrs. Hudson. There's no answer. The smoke is thicker downstairs – _Point of origin: Likely Mrs. Hudson's faulty iron. If only she'd _–

Bits of ceiling fall down again, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts. The ceiling is about to collapse completely. They probably don't have more than a few minutes left. Sherlock runs towards the door. He can (_he will; even if the house is reduced to ash_) come back for Mrs. Hudson after he gets John to safety.

Sherlock bursts through the front door of 221B and coughs, gasping. He moves forward into the street anyway. An unfamiliar set of hands reaches out to help him, and helps him set John down on the ground.

_Safe, _Sherlock sighs._John is safe. John is unconscious, but John is safe._ He collapses down onto the ground next to John. His throats burns. He's covered in ash and his eyes are spotting, blurred and altered from the smoke. He heaves, gasping.

Sherlock looks towards 221B, and sees that the whole street is on fire. Fire trucks surround them, attempting to put out the blaze. A group of useless civilians stand useless in the street, huddled together and looking frightened.

_Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson is still inside. _Sherlock tries to pick himself up off the ground, but he can't. His legs feel like bricks, and his the rest of his body refuses to do what his brain commands. He starts to crawl towards 221B, but the same set of hands that helped him before now pulls him back, keeping him from saving his landlady – his friend.

"Mrs. Hudson!" He screams, pointing at 221B.

Suddenly, Sherlock is hit with an overwhelming sense of dread. The feeling pools into his stomach until it spills out his mouth, and he collapses face-first onto the pavement, exhausted. "Please," he mumbles. Face still on the pavement, he looks up towards 221B. The fire roars and pours out the windows, the crackling sounds like gunshots.

Sherlock closes his eyes, unable to look at the horror any longer. "Oh, god, please…" he whispers. "Please."

...

**Note: **

**Will be six chapters total. Establish Johnlock, Mystrade (both are married). I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hudson.**


	2. House of Words

2

House of Words

Mycroft reads about the fire in the newspaper the following morning. He can't particularily say he's surprised. 221B was a tinderbox waiting to ignite. Honestly, he's surprised it hadn't burned to the grounds years earlier.

Greg is a little more surprised. Over breakfast, he asks his partner, "Can you believe that?"

Mycroft shakes his head, purposefully chewing a piece of bacon much longer than necessary so he doesn't have to verbally answer. He swallows. "It's a tragedy."

Lestrade stares at the paper, unable to tear his eyes away from the photographs of the place he knew so well burning. "Absolutely." He sighs. "Horrible about Mrs. Hudson."

"Terrible." Even though Mycroft had initially been unenthusiastic about his brother renting a flat from a woman whose former husband was a drug lord, he couldn't deny that Mrs. Hudson had helped him in the long run. She reminded him of Mummy. Strong, clever, charismatic, and able to put up with the Holmes boys shit. "Damn shame."

"What are Sherlock and John going to do?" Greg sips his coffee. "They can come live with us, I suppose."

Mycroft takes his partners hand very tenderly. He is, after all, an expert in breaking bad news. "Gregory… That's a terrible idea. Sherlock and I will argue all the time; you'll never be able to get any peace."

"Myc, I put up with you both separately, so I think I'll be able to handle the two of you together."

Mycroft braces himself for the impending hell and agrees.

Sherlock hasn't said a word since the fire.

Mycroft and Greg are incredibly generous about letting Sherlock and John stay with them. Sherlock has been given permission to do whatever he wants, but he doesn't take it. He just sits in their bedroom and reads, only coming out when John asks him to walk in the garden with him.

John is okay with it. He remembers his wedding vow, "_It's all fine_." And it really is _all fine_. John is perfectly capable of doing the talking for both of them.

Mycroft goes to talk to his brother, but only because Greg jokes that he'll divorce him if he doesn't. (At least he hopes it's a joke.)

Mycroft and Sherlock sit in silence for at least an hour before Mycroft speaks. "Sherlock, this is absolutely ridiculous. While I value your silence dearly, this isn't appropriate. Mrs. Hudson wouldn't want you to –"

"Oh," Sherlock sighs. "I know. You're going to give me a lecture now in what _other people_ want? How can you do that when you don't even know what you want?"

The smug look disappears from Mycroft's face. "Whatever do you mean?"

Sherlock choses that moment to stop speaking.

John and Greg have their own affairs.

"I have absolutely no idea what to do," John stirs his tea. "I've tried everything. Murders, cold cases, serial killers, blood. Nothing I can do makes him talk. We've lost our home, and we've lost Mrs. Hudson, and…" John pauses, biting his lip. "Well, it seems like we've lost each other, too."

Greg plays with his wedding band. "Maybe you need to find a new home? I mean, 221B was irreplaceable, but… Well, you know what I mean."

John does.


	3. House of Promises

3

House of Promises

John makes the funeral arrangements.

He calls the church, orders the flowers, sets the time and date, orders the food, and calls the guests.

Despite his efforts, the funeral is still a morbid affair. Mostly because there's no body to bury, only ashes. A picture of Mrs. Hudson sits next to the light green urn that contains her. John thinks it's an unworthy tribute to the woman who looked after him for so long.

Sherlock and John take the ashes back to their temporary 'home'. John puts Mrs. Hudson on the dresser and promises that someday he'll find a better place for her.

Sherlock sits on the edge of his and John's bed staring at the dresser, unsure of how to proceed.

He parts his lips as if to speak, but quickly shuts them.

_I'm not good at this whole talking thing, _he rehearses in his head. In his Mind Palace, he's sitting in the living room of 221B in his chair. Mrs. Hudson sits opposite him in John's chair.

_I told you I wasn't your housekeeper, _she smiles.

_No, _he says. _You were my friend. Friends protect people, and I – _

_Sherlock Holmes, if you want to apologize for something, you can apologize for shooting my walls full of holes and throwing a man out the window onto my bins._ Mrs. Hudson sighs. _I just want one thing from you, young man. I want you to promise me you'll never leave John. You talk to him, and you love him, and you help him. He needs you, and you need him, and the world needs you both. So you bloody well stay. _

_I promise. _Sherlock smiles, and Mrs. Hudson and 221B disappear as he opens his eyes.

"What about this one?" Greg hands John a picture of a dull looking, ivy colored grey mansion at the East End.

John pushes the picture away. "No. Looking for something less depressing, definitely."

Greg smirks. "Looks just like this house."

John gives him a knowing glare.

"Oh, come on!" Greg slaps his knee. "It's not all that bad. I feel like a royalty living here."

John considers joking, _What? Because you're princess? _Because he remembers that he's gay too. "It's not bad. Sherlock and I just need…" _something less flammable. _

Greg nods. "I understand." Greg shuffles through the newspaper again, looking for that one particular listing. When he finds it, he hands it to John. "Cottage for rent in Sussex Downs. Plenty of space to do whatever you want. And, it's made of bricks. So there's no chance…" He trails off, his meaning obvious.

The house looks reasonably nice. It's the same shade of yellow as the smiley face on 221B's wall, and it has a garden of sorts. Sherlock and he could do whatever they want there.

"I'll talk to him about it," John replies.


	4. House of Sentiment

4

House of Sentiment

Mrs. Hudson's will is read the following day. She grants Sherlock and John everything, which isn't much, since everything was destroyed in the fire. The only things that weren't are her wedding ring and a box of photographs.

Sherlock keeps the wedding ring, tucking it away in his pocket to wear later. He and John 'confiscate' some of the best bottles of Mycroft's whiskey and look at her photos. It's the first instance of any sort of intimacy they've had since the fire, and it feels refreshing.

Sherlock is particularily struck by one photo. He hands it to John, who understands in an instant why. The photo is of a much younger, much happier Mrs. Hudson standing with her husband. They both look completely happy. It's hard to image that Mr. Hudson will eventually ended up being executed, a process Sherlock _ensured. _

John sets the photograph down, already about to pick up another one when Sherlock grabs his hand. "Look at the back," he whispers.

John nods. Inside, he's ecstatic with joy that Sherlock has said something. He flips over the photograph and reads the inscription on the back.

_This is what I want for you boys. _

John starts sobbing. Sherlock opens his arms, and John takes refuge in them, resting his head into his husband's shoulder while he pats his back. Sherlock pulls John closer, refusing to let him go, and begins to cry too.

It's midnight and Greg can't sleep. Therefore, neither can Mycroft. Thank god they have alcohol to help the evening go smoother.

"I can't –" Mycroft hiccups. "I can't believe you're actually getting them to leave."

"Wasn't my intention," Greg slurs. "Believe me. I was just trying to get them… you know…"

"Get them? Get them what?"

"Back together!" Greg shouts, throwing his arms in the air. "Just… You know… Yeah…"

Mycroft just starts laughing.

Greg tries to sit up, but ends up falling over a bit. "What's so funny?"

"You. You're so adorable. Your cheeks are so pink, it's wonderful. Absolutely fantastic."

Now Greg starts laughing. "You're the adorable one. With your little power suits and your 'I'm the British government.' It's positively magical."

Mycroft is still smiling.

"Why are you so happy?"

"I'm drunk and you're wonderful," Mycroft replies.

Greg blushes. "You know what I mean."

Mycroft sighs, leaning forward with a semi-serious look on his face. "I know what I want now."

"Oh, and what's that?"

Mycroft licks his lips. "You."

...


	5. House of Bees

House of Bees

The move is a surprisingly easy one. Between them, Sherlock and John have only two-boxes of possessions. The goodbye is even easier still, since Sherlock insists (and John agrees) that they leave before sunrise. Breakfast at a roadside café is easy, traffic is easy, Sherlock is easy to deal with, and the drive to Sussex is easy. This obviously means that everything that follows is going to be incredibly hard.

The word 'abomination' is perhaps a bit too strong to describe their new home. Sherlock uses it anyway, and John can't help agreeing.

The house is a prime example of the definition of a fixer-upper. John's fairly sure that if you looked 'fixer-upper' up on the internet, you would get a picture of their new house. The house is hard to describe visually. John thinks, _Imagine a combination of every haunted house from every horror movie you've ever seen and combine them. Now paint that house yellow, add a ghost or two, and throw some fake plants over the worst parts. Oh, and bees._

The bees are actually the best part, in Sherlock's opinion. There's a large nest of them hanging off a tree just above the front door. Sherlock thinks they're absolutely lovely.

The inside of the house is somehow worse. It's all one room, except for a little bathroom which is just a toilet and a bath in the corner.

"Look, John." Sherlock points at the couch looking baffled. "Where's the bed? Is this the bed? This is a couch. Not a bed." Sherlock seems unable to make the distinction.

"It's a pull-out couch, I think." John looks at Sherlock, who is still confused. "Oh, love, it pulls out into a bed."

Sherlock nods, still not totally believing something that strange could exist. "I like it."

"What?" John sits down on the bed-couch.

"The house." Sherlock sits next to him, touching his hand. "You did a good job picking it out."

John smiles. "Thanks." He thinks he fucked up rather badly. "It's just not Baker Street. It's not home."

Sherlock smiles at him, "Home is wherever you are."

John blushes. _I shouldn't be embarrassed. This is ridiculous. We've been married for two-years. _"But it's probably just temporary, I mean…"

"Why?"

John honestly doesn't know. "Not a lot of murders in the countryside, I imagine."

Sherlock smiles. "Just you wait. They'll come popping up all over the place now that I'm here."

John laughs. "Trouble does seem to follow us wherever we go, doesn't it?"

"Always." Sherlock leans over and gives John a kiss on the cheek. It's the first time Sherlock has kissed him since the fire. "We'll make it work."

Sherlock is completely enthralled with the bees. So much so that it has John a little concerned.

"What if they sting you?" John is standing just far enough away so they bees won't sting him.

Sherlock shrugs, tapping the hive again with the garden plow. "You're a doctor. You can treat me."

John smiles. "I'd rather not."

"Oh!" Sherlock steps back as the hive falls to the ground in front of the run door. "Run! Run!" He turns around to yell at John, but John is already running. Sherlock looks back at the bees, who are starting to swarm around his legs. He starts running too.

"You're lucky I'm a doctor."

"That's why I married you," Sherlock winces as John pulls another little stinger from his leg.

"Indentured servitude," mumbles John, smiling.

Sherlock looks outside. There's about ten bees buzzing around the front door, waiting for a new victim. "I'm sure the bees will come 'round soon."

John nods, smiling. "I'm sure they will."

...

**Notes: This work is now completed! So adorable! So, so adorable! Hope you enjoyed!**


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